


Reverence

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Community: hc_bingo, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary has all night to study, memorize, and wonder over every scar on Chris Larabee's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverence

Chris Larabee was riddled with scars. Mary knew the story behind some of them, like the one on his arm from taking a bullet to protect Billy. She traced her fingers feather light over the pale, indented skin, forever marking him, a reminder of the sacrifice he had made for her son. She lingered for a second or two before she let her touch drift, curled over his bicep, up his shoulder, down his chest. Her fingertips traveled across other scars, foreign scars she didn’t know, layers of Chris she had yet to uncover if she dared to.

Chris shivered beneath her touch, his skin peppered with goosebumps, but he didn’t stop her, didn’t protest. It seemed as if hours had passed since the last time either of them had moved, but it might have been minutes, Mary couldn’t tell. The only thing she cared about now was that she could touch him – Chris Larabee, of all people - the way she wanted to for as long as she wanted to. She plucked the last button free on his shirt and slid it over his shoulders, her gaze following the path of her fingertips ghosting along his arms, watching every new inch of skin uncovered before she let the shirt drop over the side of her bed, forgotten.

Chris sat with his back to the headboard, faint golden candlelight casting his features half in shadow. Mary’s knees pressed into either side of Chris’s hips, her bare thighs grating against his rough pants. He rested one hand lightly atop her leg and the heat of his skin burned through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

As Mary’s hands wandered over him, memorizing him by touch, Chris slipped his fingers around the curve of her hip and she closed her eyes, just for a moment, before she opened them again. A small part of her thought maybe it was only a dream, maybe all of this would vanish if she looked away a moment too long. Chris would be gone and she would be alone. Again. With the sheets growing cold around her. God help her, she’d keep her eyes open, no matter what. This night wasn’t going to pass by until she soaked up every second of it. Soaked up every second of him.

Mary’s wandering hands came to rest on the scar above Chris’s ribs, the one…that woman had put there. Years later, it was still angry red, as if it hadn’t truly healed and never would.

Chris sucked in a breath, his ribs contracted away from her, and he placed his hand over hers. He pulled her hand up and pressed it flat against his chest, his heartbeat thrumming beneath her palm.

“You’re here, Mary,” he said. “Not her. _Never_ her.”

Chris rose up from the bed and looped an arm around Mary’s waist. She wrapped her legs around his middle as he picked her up, turned her over, and laid her out beneath him, gently, softly, as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces if he wasn’t careful.

Without looking away from her, Chris caught the hem of her nightgown and hesitated, waiting. Mary didn’t flinch, her gaze steady and sure despite how her fingers shook a little against his forearms. His hands skimmed up her sides as he pulled her nightgown up over her head. But the fabric caught in her hair and her arms and Mary laughed as Chris finally untangled her, letting the nightgown fall to the floor in a billow of white like a cloud.

“Well that’s a fine start, isn’t it?” Mary said as Chris kissed her through his own smile and a low hum of laughter. Every time she saw that smile, her breath hitched in her throat and she couldn’t stop staring, willing the image to stay imprinted in her mind. And now, as that same addictive smile was pressed to her own mouth, she knew she would always ache to see it, to feel it, lighting up Chris’s face.

When Chris pulled back, Mary’s smile faded. She swallowed hard at the realization there was nothing to shield her from his attention now, and a fierce blush blazed across her skin.

It had been so very long since Mary had done this. She thought it might come back to her in the moment, but now that the moment had arrived…she felt like a shy young woman again faced with the unfamiliar territory of her wedding night.

Mary moved an arm to cover herself but Chris caught her wrist, turned her hand palm up. He traced his thumb over the tiny white line of scar that ran from her little finger to the center of her palm. She had fallen off her horse when she was a little girl and the rocky ground had bitten into her skin. Her father had to dig out the pebbles embedded in her palm with a knife as she cried.

The memory flew from her mind as Chris kissed that scar in her palm, then the inside of her wrist, and up her arm. His lips only grazed her skin, yet a trail of fire was left in his wake all the same. And when his mouth closed over her breast, Mary truly thought of nothing else. She arched against him, driving her hips up, and her hand went to the back of his head to keep him there. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, quiet and fragile and whisper-soft in the silence.

_“Chris.”_

Chris slid his hand from Mary’s waist to the small of her back, his fingers splayed wide, holding her against him. Slowly, his mouth drifted to her other breast then down her stomach. The longer he took, his lips warm and soft against her skin as he nuzzled and nipped, the more Mary’s legs tightened around his hips until she was nearly trembling.

Chris stopped at the dip of her waist and pulled away, watching her for a moment, always gauging whether or not she was safe. Mary reached out, almost reverently, and cupped Chris’s face in her hand. He kissed her thumb as she traced over his lips, along the column of his throat, her fingertips shifting over every ridge of muscle, every plane of skin, until she came to the waistband of his pants and slipped two fingers inside. She propped herself up and brushed her nose against Chris’s as she popped the button free. Her lips hovered close to his, almost touching, as she pushed his pants down past his hips and he kicked them off the rest of the way.

Mary’s mouth went dry and she took in a shaky breath at the sight of him, just as exposed and vulnerable as she was. Chris tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, the back of his knuckles trailing down her throat.

“You all right?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough in the stillness.

With a small smile, Mary placed her hands on either side of Chris’s face and leaned back against the pillows again, taking him with her. He hooked an arm around Mary and drew her close until she was flush against him, sending shivers dancing across her skin at the heady rush of contact, at the feel of his hot, pulsing length pressed against the softness of her thighs but not quite entering her, not yet.

Mary smoothed her thumbs over his cheekbones, swept his hair back from his forehead and finally tipped her chin up to kiss him, almost chastely at first.  Until she got a taste of him, the sharp burn of whisky with a lingering sweetness, hardly there at all, like apples warmed by the sun. And she kissed him harder, her tongue sliding into his mouth, hungry and eager for more of him, always more of him, just in case he should disappear and she’d never get this chance again.

Then Chris slipped inside of her, so, so slowly, gently. Their mouths fell open at the same time, kiss broken, with a faint gasp of surprise and pleasure mingled on one breath. How long Mary had dreamed of this, _craved_ it even, and always pushed it away, out of her mind. But Chris was here now, filling every one of her senses, filling _her_ , all hazy soft touches, warm skin, hard lean muscle, smelling of horse and leather and desert dust, and holding so very still inside her.

Seconds edged by while both Mary and Chris stayed frozen, breath coming quick and shallow, pupils blown wide. Mary was the first to break the spell, one hand coasting down Chris’s back, willing him to move. Chris curled his fingers lightly behind her neck, his thumb nestled at the curve of her ear and throat. He pulled out, though not all the way, not willing to lose the connection between them, but the tiniest whimper left Mary’s lips all the same from that emptiness inside her. Chris eased into her again and covered her mouth with his, teeth grazing her bottom lip, just as eager to taste her as she was to taste him.

With long, slow strokes, Chris drew a gasp from Mary every time he sank into her. His lips drifted from her mouth, down her chin, along her jawline, teasing at her earlobe. Mary cradled the back of his head in her hands, her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder, kissing his throat, his jaw, his chest.

Mary dug her fingertips into his back, a silent insistent plea for more. Chris rolled his hips a little deeper but his rhythm never wavered, drawing the moment out as long as possible. He wrapped his arms around Mary and sat up, taking her with him and settling her into his lap. And when he thrust up into her now, she met each rise and fall of his hips with her own, clinging to him. Mary locked her gaze with Chris’s as every muscle, every nerve, wound tighter and tighter. She forgot to kiss him then as the rest of the world fell away, save for the feel of him, the breath of him, the touch of him.

With a sharp intake of breath and a wordless cry, Mary came, her head tipped back, her eyes closed as she shuddered in Chris’s arms. Chris watched as pleasure washed over her face, rippling through her entire body. He continued to slide into her, over and over, sending fresh waves of trembling through her.

Seeing Mary unravel in his hands, safe and lost to the purest pleasure imaginable, was enough for Chris to come a moment later. His delicate care shattered and his grip became almost crushingly tight, as if he could leave a tattoo of Mary’s body against his and he’d never have to let her go again. He dipped his forehead to her collarbone as he went rigid and he knew nothing but the sweet smell of Mary’s skin, the feel of her surrounding every inch of him.

Long after the tremors had faded, Mary and Chris held on to each other, breathing ragged in the silence, sweat-slick skin cooling in the night. Mary laid her cheek on top of Chris’s head, still bowed to her chest. Her hand trailed away from his hair, across his shoulder and curled over his bicep to touch the scar on his arm. Her other hand came to rest on the scar over his ribs. And just as before, Chris sucked in a breath, trying to pull away from her. But Mary pressed her hand there anyway.

Chris raised his head and met her gaze.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the flutter of fear in her chest at those words said aloud, from her own lips, words she never thought she’d say again, much less to Chris.

Chris was silent, studying her for so long that Mary might have squirmed under normal circumstances, but she held perfectly still now and stared back. Maybe she already knew he wouldn’t reply, wouldn’t repeat it to her in return. There were too many unseen scars for that, raw and tender still.

But when Chris took Mary’s face in his hands, so carefully, so lightly, she closed her eyes as he kissed her deeply enough to steal away the little sigh of contentment that fell from her lips.

He didn’t have to say a word.


End file.
